Canal Days Calamity

by Jamie M. Blair

“It’s okay,” Quinn told him, calmly, kneeling down. “There’s a good lad. What did those chancers do to ya?”

  He slowly reached over and unbuckled the muzzle, pulling it off gently. The dog skittered away from him, cowering in the corner.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Johnna asked, peering over the top of the stall.

  “He’s afraid,” Monica said. “I wonder how long he’s been in here.”

  “Doesn’t look ill treated,” Roy said. “Looks fed. No fleas.”

  “Probably just not socialized,” I said. “He doesn’t look like he’s used to people.”

  Johnna opened the door and waltzed inside the stall.

  “Careful,” Quinn warned.

  “He’s not gonna hurt me. Come here, love,” she said, pulling a few feet of highlighter-yellow knitted yarn from her tote bag. “Johnna has something to keep you warm.” She went right up to him and wrapped her half-kitted project around his middle. “There you go.” She patted his head, and he licked her hand. “You come on home with me. Johnna will make sure you’re taken care of.”

  Beside me, Ben sighed in relief. I had to agree with him, my house was at max canine capacity.

  Conan nudged the swinging stall door open with his nose and eased inside. He padded over to Chuck’s side and sat, like an assigned protector. Brutus followed, mocking Conan’s actions and sitting on Chuck’s other side.

  Quinn laughed. “The Three Stooges.”

  We all had a good chuckle watching them, big burly Brutus; tall, sleek, and intelligent Conan; and their new friend, Chuck, who all of us would get to know soon.

  “Mom,” Sue said, “how did you know Chuck was in here?”

  “He’s a sure bet,” Elaina said. “Good Luck Chuck to win!”

  “You knew Butch had dog races here?”

  “Who didn’t?” the old woman asked.

  It stood to reason that when you’ve lived in a town for nine decades you’d probably know everything that went on. I’d have to keep that in mind next time I was digging up information.

  Johnna tied a string of bubblegum pink yarn around Chuck’s neck like a leash. “Let’s go home, sweet boy. You need a bath and some nice warm chicken soup.”

  “Can dogs eat chicken soup?” I whispered to Monica.

  “As long as there are no onions or garlic in it. I’ll make sure she knows what to avoid.”

  “Guess you have another treat tester.”

  “You and our friends need to stop rescuing dogs! At this rate, every dog in town will be a tester and I won’t have anyone left to sell them to.”

  “I doubt we’ll end up with every dog in town.”

  Monica smiled, shaking her head. “I’ll remind you that you said that.”

  Johnna led the still-quaking Chuck out of the stall. We all gave him a wide berth. He kept his head down and ears back, but didn’t try to run away or snap at us.

  “I’ve got an extra lead in my truck,” Quinn offered.

  “We prefer the softness of cashmere yarn,” Johnna said, striding with her new companion to the barn doors. “Who’s taking us home?”

  I held back a chuckle. In true Johnna kleptomaniac fashion, she’d strolled in and claimed the dog as her own. It was another match made in Metamora, like Monica and Quinn, and Mom and Carl. Only time would tell if those matches were made in heaven.

  ∞

  After Ben drove us home, I took a bath and Mia helped me get comfortable on the couch, bringing me warm tea and magazines. Ben had to go down to the station to follow up on Arnie and Avery’s arrest and file paperwork, so Mom and Monica hovered.

  “We can’t let her fall asleep,” Mom insisted. “Let’s watch a movie or something.”

  “That’s a myth,” Mia said, showing Mom a webpage on her cell phone. “She can sleep as long as she can hold a conversation, and TV is actually bad for her.”

  Mom harumphed. “I’ll make her a sandwich. She can still eat, can’t she?”

  “Yes, but nothing spicy. She might get nauseous.”

  Mia, my little caretaker. I took her hand. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  Monica whisked into the family room with a blanket and my bed pillow. “Lift your head,” she said, tucking the pillow behind me. “I’m sleeping in your room tonight to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Liam hopped up and snuggled in between my ankles. Fiddle and Faddle had parked it in front of the fireplace, clueless to the world, and Gus paced around the coffee table, sensing something was wrong but not knowing what. Isobel ignored all of us, of course, and snoozed in her spot beside the refrigerator.

  “I need my planner and my cell phone, Mon,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “I need to call Soapy and figure out what to do about Canal Days. We need to get word out.” The streets were still under a few inches of standing water when we drove home from Landow Farm. The sandbags were keeping the canal from encroaching on our side of the street, though, and so far my front yard was soaked from the rain but not suffering a flood.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Mom called from the kitchen. “Soapy can take care of it.”

  “I’ll call him and tell him what happened,” Mia offered. “If he needs help, I’ll get with the Action Agency and we’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you sure? I feel terrible leaving it up to you and everyone else.”

  “Have you seen your head?” she asked. “You look like one of those gray aliens on that show Dad likes to watch. You’re in no shape to do anything but lay here.”

  I frowned, and Gus sneaked up and gave my face a lick. He looked me over and whined. “You think I look like an alien, too, huh?” I asked him.

  He licked me again.

  Mia went off to call Soapy. Mom brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and Monica sat in the rocking chair, looking melancholy. “What’s wrong?” I asked her, between bites of my sticky sandwich.

  She gazed out the window as she answered. “Did you see how good Quinn was with Chuck today?”

  “Yeah, he’s great with dogs.”

  “He’s great with everything. It’s not fair.”

  “You’re great at things, too, you know.”

  “No, I don’t mean—it’s not fair that he has to leave!”

  “Oh, I see what you mean. No, it’s not fair, Mon.”

  “I’m not so young anymore. I don’t have forever to get married if I want to have a baby. And the guy I’m crazy about lives in Ireland. Why did this have to happen?”

  “Would you rather it didn’t? Would you rather have never met him?”

  She shook her head. “No. I just wish … I don’t know. I wish we could be together somehow.”

  “I know.” I didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing I could offer that would make the situation any less heartbreaking. When Quinn left Metamora, Monica’s heart would go with him. It would take her a long, long time to get over him, if she ever did.

  “He asked me if I’d ever move to Ireland,” she said, knocking me for a loop.

  “What? You can’t! I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?”

  “I don’t know, Cam. I don’t want to. The thought of moving to a country I’ve never even visited is terrifying. It wouldn’t be right away. We only just met after all. It’s hard to imagine going that far. But it’s hard to imagine losing him, too.”

  I took a sip of tea, washing down the peanut butter. “Try not to think about it. Enjoy your time with him, and it’ll work itself out.”

  “How?”

  “Somehow. Things always work out somehow.”

  The front door squeaked open and I heard Ben’s work boots treading down the hall. He came around the corner into the kitchen and saw me sitting on the family room couch. “Why aren’t you in bed sleeping
?”

  “I’m perfectly fine here, and I just ate a sandwich.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? A three-legged relay race?”

  He sat on the edge of the couch looking down at me. “No matter how many times I ask you to stay out of police business, you’re not going to, are you?”

  “Not when I’m the one who finds them and my friends or my family are suspects.”

  “Okay, then I’m going to revise my plea. Can you please stop finding dead bodies?”

  “I’ll do my best. Promise.”

  He bent down and kissed my forehead. “Arnie sang like a canary in the interrogation room.”

  “He did? What did he say?”

  “Well, once we promised to be lenient when considering his past arrest, he told us he was in serious debt to Avery, and Avery told him if he forged a will they’d call it even.”

  “Butch’s will. I knew it!”

  “Yes, but then Avery blackmailed Arnie. If Arnie didn’t help get John and Paul, who conveniently wanted to buy Butch’s farm, convicted of the murder, Avery would turn Arnie in for forging the will.”

  “So Arnie got in over his head.”

  “Way over his head.”

  “It’s a slippery slope from fraud to murder, I guess.”

  Ben rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “I don’t think he knew Avery’s plan to murder Butch, but that’s for a judge and jury to decide.”

  “I’m just glad it’s solved, and Andy, John, and Paul have their names cleared.”

  I snuggled down into my pillow, my stomach full, blanket warm, and feeling like I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “I have one more question for you, and then I’ll let you sleep,” Ben said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why were you barefoot?”

  With my eyes closed, I smiled. “Long story.”

  “It always is with you,” he said, chuckling.

  • Twenty-One •

  A week had passed and the canal had receded back below its banks. The sky was bright and the air crisp, perfect fall weather. Vendors lined the streets on both sides of the canal; the Canal Days festivities were in full swing.

  Dog Diggity was celebrating its grand opening after Andy had the week to finish the last projects he’d been working on. Old Dan pitched in as well.

  The exterior got a fresh coat of white paint, and Monica hung a baby blue awning with orange polka dots across the front. The sign was in a curlicue font with a paw print dotting the i. Overall, the effect was adorable.

  Stewart approached the Action Agency table that stood in front of Dog Diggity. “Here to buy some honey?” I asked, holding up a jar of the golden goodness.

  “Absolutely.” He handed me a five-dollar bill. “And I was wondering”—he glanced around and leaned in closer—“did you happen to find any betting books at Butch’s farm?”

  “Books with records of who bet and how much?” I asked, guessing he was nervous about finding his name written down on such a list. “No. But I didn’t search around. I’m not sure what Ben and Reins might find.”

  He looked over my head and nodded distractedly. “Alright. Thanks for the honey.”

  “Stewart? I wouldn’t worry about something you can’t control. Nothing might ever be found.”

  He twisted his lips, considering, and nodded again before walking away from the table.

  “Irene will have his hide if she finds out,” Johnna said, knitting a scarf for Chuck, who lay curled in a ball at her feet, his belly stuffed with Monica’s dog treats.

  “Well, I’m not going to tell her.”

  Behind us, Dog Diggity was packed. A crowd of people milled around inside with treat bags in their hands. I hoped Monica sold out and we were up until midnight baking more treats for tomorrow.

  In the past week, I’d gotten enough sleep and forced rest to last me a long while. The giant bump on my head had gone down to just a small lump that wasn’t visible under my hair, and I felt fine. Better than fine, really.

  Since we’d missed our movie date last week, Ben came over and read to me from Sunset At Dawn, the book that Cass raved about that the zombie movie we’d walked out of was based on. While it wasn’t as great as Cass made it seem, it was a million times better than the sensationalized movie. The best part was Ben reading to me. He’d never done that before. It wasn’t even something I’d ever imagine him doing. Whatever was going on between us, it was good. It was bringing us closer.

  “You go on and walk around a bit,” Johnna said, wrapping her needles and setting aside the yarn ball. “Chuck and I can hold down the fort.”

  I didn’t doubt that they could, I only doubted her ability to keep her sticky fingers out of the till. “Maybe I’ll do that. Roy should be back soon.”

  He’d gone to find a caramel apple. At least that’s what he said. I had my suspicions that he’d escaped to the Cornerstone bar.

  I strolled down the road, stopping at the Soapy Savant to get a cup of spiced cider from their cauldron. “I can smell that at my house,” I told Theresa. “I wish it smelled that good every day.”

  “I have candles with a similar scent,” she said.

  “Think it’ll cover eau de dog?”

  “Couldn’t hurt. I’ve got some over on the table.” She gestured to where Soapy was manning their table of items for sale.

  “I’ll check it out,” I said. I walked over, warming my hands on my paper cider cup. “Hey, Soapy.”

  “Cam! Feeling better?”

  “One hundred percent.” I picked up a candle and sniffed. Apple pie scent. My mouth watered.

  “Turned out to be the perfect weather, didn’t it?”

  “Much better than last weekend, and the crowd is still pretty big.”

  “We’ve had a ton of customers come through. I think a lot of our neighbors are going to have a profitable weekend.”

  “Monica’s been busy from the minute she opened her door. Honey sales are pretty good, too. I hope we get enough for new desks.”

  “About that. I have some bad news.”

  I picked up a cinnamon candle and sniffed. “I’m sorry, I’m closed for bad news today.”

  “The church was flooded really badly, Cam. I’m not sure when or even if you and your crew can get back down there and work.”

  I blinked. “Where will we go?”

  “I’m working on it. Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”

  It was bad news, but not terrible. Wherever we found to put down stakes couldn’t be any worse than a moldy old church basement. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, giving him a confident smile. Soapy was good to us. He’d find somewhere for us to work.

  I bought the cinnamon and apple pie candles and went on my way. A little farther down, Logan was perched on the ledge inside a dunk tank. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Logan, what are you doing in there?” I called to him.

  “Fundraiser for the Number Ninjas,” he shouted.

  I figured that was his math club. I gave three dollars to the lady running the tank—one of the ninja’s mom’s, I imagined—and she gave me three softballs. “Okay, here goes nothing!”

  “Don’t you dare!” Logan yelled.

  I threw and the ball went high.

  A few people stopped to watch.

  I wound up and threw the next one underhand. It missed by an inch to the outside of the target. “One more!” I called to Logan.

  “Miss it!” he yelled back.

  “You got this,” a tall, gangly kid said. Another ninja?

  I pulled my arm back, pointed at the target with my free hand and whipped the ball straight ahead. It hit the metal target with an echoing thunk! The platform fell out from under Logan and he splashed down in the tank of steamy warm water.

 
The crowd that had gathered cheered. Anna rushed up to me, laughing. We high-fived, and she took pictures with her phone. Logan didn’t find it as amusing, but he took it with good nature. Since I’d sunk him, I got a Number Ninjas button. I thanked the mom in charge and tossed it in my bag with my candles.

  I set off for my next stop at Sue’s Soda Pop Shop. I told myself I would behave and not indulge in too many sweets, but her fudge was not something I could resist. The smell of sugar and chocolate hit me when I walked inside. My senses perked up and my skin seemed to tingle. Sue stood behind a wooden rail at a marble table, spreading out hot fudge. There was a small crowd gathered at the railing watching as she used her spatula to even out the gooey mixture on the slab. She saw me and gave me a wink while she explained what she was doing step-by-step in the process. Mia and Steph stood behind the candy case boxing up goodies for customers. I got in line and watched my stepdaughter work.

  She was friendly and efficient. I could tell she was a hard worker. I wondered if Ben had ever been in and watched her. He’d be proud. I was proud. She was a young lady who still had mood swings and teen behavioral tendencies, but she was a good-hearted, sweet girl.

  When I got to the front of the line, she shook her fudge cutter at me. “We don’t need more sugar in the house.”

  “I know. I just want one piece. Maybe two. That’s it.”

  “Well, I’m not allowed to refuse service, so what kind would you like?”

  I placed my order for a piece of rocky road and a piece of walnut maple. She wrapped them up and I paid. “Is there anything you want me to bring you? Soapy has some hot apple cider.”

  “I’m fine. Steph and I are going to take a break as soon as her mom’s done with that batch. I want to go up and see Dog Diggity.”

  “Monica would love it if you guys stopped in.” I reached across the counter and gave her hand a squeeze. I resisted the urge to gush about my pride in her to save her embarrassment. The words would keep until later at home.

  Next door, Brenda had her gothic horror novels out on display and her sister was in full fortune teller regalia at a separate, small table draped in black silk. Tarot cards and a crystal ball sat in front of her. She had a customer—a woman I’d never seen before, probably a tourist—enthralled in hearing her future.