In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

  Veronika reeled in horror. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I have to; otherwise, I’m leaving myself open to legal liability.”

  “She’s going to law school,” Jocelyn said proudly.

  “She can be a lawyer and still have my gift,” Veronika snapped. “Palmistry is not just entertainment. It’s a true talent. I got it from my grandmother, who got it from her grandmother.”

  “Well, the talent skipped my generation. When I look at palms, I don’t see anything.” Bree held up her own palms, as though offering proof. “I’ll just be making stuff up.”

  Her grandmother narrowed her gaze. “You disappoint me.”

  “I’m telling the truth, Grandma. Nothing happens.”

  “Something happened when you saw Liam’s palm,” Jocelyn pointed out.

  Veronika rounded on Jocelyn with great interest. “Who’s Liam?”

  “The latest shifty rich guy,” Bree said. “The other shifty rich guy just broke up with her.”

  “Oh, him?” Veronika sniffed dismissively. “I knew he’d never last.”

  “You could have told me that,” Jocelyn said. “Saved me some heartache.”

  “Tell me more about this new shifty rich man,” Veronika demanded.

  “I barely know him.”

  “Tell me.” Veronika’s tone brooked no refusal.

  Jocelyn obeyed. “He’s the illegitimate son of Mr. Allardyce—actually, he might be legitimate; there was a wedding ring involved at some point—and he didn’t get anything in the will, and he keeps showing up at my house.”

  “He’s on the ragged edge,” Bree added.

  Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “He’s not on the ragged edge. He just wants to know who his father was.”

  “And take your beautiful, gigantic beach house away from you.”

  “Yeah, that, too.”

  “Enough.” Veronika became impatient with all the details. “What about his palm?”

  Jocelyn pointed at Bree. “She had a little episode when she looked at it, but she won’t tell me anything.”

  “I did not have an episode,” Bree practically spat. “I had a hunch.”

  “Aha!” Veronika jabbed her index finger in the air. “It’s not a hunch, it’s a gift.”

  “Make her tell me what she saw,” Jocelyn implored Veronika.

  Bree shook her head. “Grandma, you and I will discuss this later.”

  “We certainly will. And in the meantime, you need to prepare yourself to read a roomful of palms.”

  Bree made a face. “What am I even supposed to wear to that? Big gold hoop earrings and a bunch of gypsy scarves on my head?”

  “And you accuse me of spreading stereotypes?” Veronika threw up her hands. “Wear what you would normally wear to a bridal shower. And then add one big, unusual accessory. Something to add a little air of mystery and art.”

  “My accessory is dog hair,” Jocelyn decided.

  Bree’s head jerked around. “You’re not coming.”

  “I’m definitely coming,” Jocelyn assured her. “I’m your trusty assistant. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “No way in—” Bree started, but Veronika intervened.

  “You’re going, both of you, and you’re not going to say one word about ‘for entertainment purposes only.’”

  “Yay!” Jocelyn rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be great!”

  “I hate you,” Bree said.

  Jocelyn tilted her head. “We’ll see how you feel when you need someone to help you replace a leaky toilet next week.”

  “I’ll use you for your toilet-replacement skills, but I’ll still hate you,” Bree vowed. Jocelyn blew her a kiss.

  The theme music for Jeopardy! came on, and Veronika banished both of them from her sight. But not before she beckoned Jocelyn closer and murmured in her ear: “The guy that Bree has picked out for you? Go on one date. It will change your life.”

  “How did you already find a new dating prospect?” Jocelyn demanded as she and Bree headed back to the porch. “My last relationship isn’t even cold yet.”

  “I told your mother I was going to hook you up, and I don’t lie to Rachel Hillier. Plus, you might like this guy. He’s cute and he has a job instead of a trust fund. He’s a catch.”

  “If this guy is so great, why don’t you go out with him?” Jocelyn challenged.

  “Because law school. I don’t need any romantic distractions right now. I need to keep my eye on the prize: getting the hell out of here.”

  “This is going to be like a movie,” Jocelyn predicted. “The beautiful, mysterious law student who puts herself through school with palm-reading parties.”

  Bree shook her head. “Palm reading doesn’t pay that well. I’d be better off putting myself through school by stripping. Plus, I bet I have more stripping talent than palm-reading talent.”

  “I will not take that bet.” Jocelyn slipped on her sunglasses. “So am I still invited to come to Philadelphia with you?”

  “You’re always invited to go anywhere with me, but you can’t. You live here now, with your dogs and your big fancy beach house. You’re not going anywhere. That’s why you’re going to go out with the guy I found for you.”

  “I’m going to go out with him because your grandmother told me to. What’s his name?”

  “Um . . .” Bree glanced away. “It’s a family nickname.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “Otter.”

  Jocelyn stopped walking. “No.”

  “It’s just a name! Don’t judge.”

  “Too late.”

  “Come on. One drink.” Bree glanced back toward her grandmother. “You heard the lady: It’s going to change your life.”

  chapter 15

  Jocelyn was taking an afternoon power nap with the dogs on a pile of sheets and blankets when she heard the scrape of a key in the lock and the echo of footfalls in the hallway.

  She rocketed into a sitting position and surveyed the group of snoring Labs surrounding her on the laundry room floor.

  “Hello?” she called out as the footsteps got closer. Curtis opened one eye.

  “Hashtag ‘worst watchdogs ever.’” Jocelyn got to her feet and shook her head at the somnolent canines. “Have no fear, guys. Don’t get up.”

  For once, they all obeyed.

  Jocelyn peered around the corner into the kitchen, where she saw two women in bleach-stained T-shirts and ponytails inspecting a recent scratch in the white apron sink.

  She cleared her throat, and they both startled and whirled to face her. One woman was younger than the other, and the older one looked familiar. Jocelyn tried to place the face.

  “Hi, I’m Jocelyn.” She opened the tall wooden gate separating the laundry area from the kitchen. “I live here now with the dogs. Long story.”

  “I know.” The older woman frowned at her. “I’m Marianne. I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

  “Oh, of course.” Jocelyn smote her forehead. “You make that three-berry pie for the Fourth of July party every year, right?”

  The woman nodded. “This is my daughter, Abby.”

  “Hi, Abby. Pleased to meet you.” Jocelyn shook hands with the teenager, who refused to make eye contact. She waited for them to explain their presence. They looked at her as if they were waiting for the same. “So what can I do for you?” And why do you have a key?

  “We’re here to clean the house.” Marianne’s tone sharpened. “We’ve been coming twice a week for the last three years.”

  “Ah.” Jocelyn cleared her throat. “Well, as you may have heard—”

  “No one told us not to come.”

  “No one told us anything.” Abby headed for a storage closet near the pantry and started hauling out cleaning supplies: a vacuum, a bucket, a mop, a
nd bottles of polishes and oils.

  Jocelyn considered the staggering logistics of keeping this huge house clean. The dog hair and dust had already started to accumulate. The baseboards went on for miles. The antique furniture needed routine polishing and the windows bore the imprint of a thousand damp dog noses.

  She now lived in a house she could not maintain without help. She was perilously close to becoming one of them—a pampered princess who lounged around eating bonbons while other people damaged their spines scrubbing her floors and dusting her chandeliers.

  “Things are still in transition,” she told Abby and Marianne. “You don’t have to clean today.”

  “What?” Marianne frowned. “Why not?”

  “We want to.” Abby finally jerked her chin up and looked Jocelyn in the eye.

  “We need this job,” Marianne added. “Abby and I take care of Mr. Allardyce’s house and my husband and brother-in-law take care of the yard.”

  That would explain how the gravel had magically remained raked and the hedges magically remained trimmed.

  “I know, but . . . it’s a little weird having someone else clean my sink.” Jocelyn opened a cabinet and pulled out a pair of drinking glasses. “Can I get you anything? Iced tea? Water?”

  “No. We’re here to work.” Marianne shot a look at her daughter.

  Jocelyn tried to explain. “I just don’t feel good about making someone else do my dirty work. That’s what I do for a living.”

  “Get over it,” Marianne advised. “My car payment is due on Tuesday. Abby, grab the mop and start with the back bathrooms.” She turned back to Jocelyn with her jaw set. “We good?”

  “How much was Mr. Allardyce paying you?” Jocelyn asked. “If it’s anything like what he was paying me, you’re due for a raise.” She made a mental note to call the estate attorney later and adjust the monthly property maintenance budget accordingly.

  The housecleaner regarded her with wariness, then nodded. “Thank you.” Without another word, she headed down the hall to help her daughter clean the faucets and tiled shower walls that no one used.

  Zero chitchat. Zero pleasantries and lighthearted gossip. Zero acknowledgment that Jocelyn was anyone other than a rich seasonal resident. An employer who must be appeased. Money had made her an outsider in her own community.

  Jocelyn listened to the faint sounds of the faucet running and tried to reconcile her guilt and gratitude. And then, in the grand tradition of Black Dog Bay employees, she put her feelings aside and did her job.

  “Come on, Hester, look alive. The vet’s going to be here any minute.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Hester’s doing great and all the puppies are gaining weight.” Dr. Tracey Moore smiled up at Jocelyn as she doled out a treat to Hester.

  “Thank goodness,” Jocelyn replied. “I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to any of them.”

  “You’re doing great,” the vet said. “Try to keep her hydrated to boost her milk supply and let her take some alone time if she wants it. It can get exhausting, having four puppies climbing all over you trying to nurse all day.”

  “She does look worn out, poor thing.” Jocelyn scratched Hester under her collar, which elicited a heavy tail thump against the mudroom floor.

  “That’s normal at this stage of the game. Just make sure the room stays warm and weigh everybody at least once a day.”

  “We have weigh-ins every morning and every night.” Jocelyn nodded at the postal scale she’d placed on the counter next to the dryer. “I’m a paranoid wreck.”

  The quartet of squirmy, pink molelike creatures were looking more like actual dogs every day. Two with black fur like Hester’s, one with a burgeoning black coat, and one with gray fur who looked like a Weimaraner changeling. The vet had assured her that this was in fact a rare genetic variant, sometimes referred to as a “silver Lab.”

  “As long as I’m here, would you like me to take a look at Carmen?” Dr. Moore brushed a stray dog hair off her shirt.

  “Carmen?” Jocelyn blinked. “Why? She’s fine.”

  “Well, I know Mr. Allardyce wanted to breed her this year, once Hester’s puppies were placed in their new homes.”

  “He did,” Jocelyn affirmed. “He said she was the prettiest and the fastest out of all the dogs he’d ever owned. He introduced her to some potential mates a while back, but she didn’t get along with any of them. She has very high standards.”

  The vet looped her stethoscope around her neck. “Mr. Allardyce asked me to coordinate artificial insemination. At least twice, if I recall correctly.”

  “Ah, yes.” Jocelyn nodded. “The frozen dog sperm from Belgium.”

  “I think it was from England in Carmen’s case. It didn’t work.” The vet got to her feet and petted Carmen and Curtis, who were whining on the other side of the safety gate. “Sometimes the assisted reproduction methods aren’t as effective as an old-fashioned, face-to-face meeting.”

  “I guess we could take a road trip out to New York or Pennsylvania, but—”

  “Ireland,” the vet interjected. “Mr. Allardyce was going to take her to Ireland.”

  “What, like Europe Ireland? Cross-the-Atlantic-Ocean Ireland?”

  Dr. Moore nodded. “Purebred dog breeders do it all the time.”

  “That seems a bit extreme.”

  “You have plenty of time to think about it,” the vet assured her. “But I know that’s what Mr. Allardyce wanted for her.”

  And Jocelyn was Carmen’s guardian. Her job was to take care of her, keep her healthy, bring her to shows, make sure she had a never-ending supply of stuffed squirrels . . . and take her to the Emerald Isle on blind doggie dates. Never a dull moment.

  But first, she had to line up a puppy sitter to make sure everybody remained happy and healthy while she accompanied Bree to the palm-reading party. Jocelyn scrolled through her contact list, debating and discarding potential candidates one by one. Mr. Allardyce had been right when he complained it was nearly impossible to find reliable dog care. She begged Dr. Moore to stay for the rest of the day, but the vet could only stay for another hour. That gave her sixty minutes to go pick up the weekly loads of laundry, check on her mother, and return to the beach house.

  As soon as she opened the front door to her childhood home, she knew something was wrong. A pot was boiling over on the stove, the TV was on, but Rachel was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mom?” Jocelyn hurried to turn off the stove.

  “Joss! Thank God you’re here!” Rachel’s voice drifted down from the staircase. “I left my cell phone on the sofa and I was starting to panic.”

  Jocelyn found her mother sprawled halfway up the stairs, her legs curled up against her chest. “What happened?” She put her hands under Rachel’s arms and helped her mother into a sitting position. “Are you supposed to be climbing stairs?”

  “I didn’t hurt my back.” Rachel bristled. “I think I pulled a muscle in my hip, though.”

  “Okay, give me a second to think.” Jocelyn peered back down at the first floor, trying to figure out the best way to relocate Rachel. “I’ll have to carry you down.”

  “You can’t.” Rachel’s tone was flat. “You’ll kill us both.”

  “Then I’ll have to call Bree and she’ll help. Best-case scenario, we all make it out of here alive. Worst-case scenario, we all die together.”

  “I’m so glad I raised you to be an optimist.”

  Jocelyn produced her cell phone, but before she dialed, she gave her mother a stern look. “You can’t go on like this. You’re coming to stay with me for a few weeks.”

  “But—”

  “End of discussion.” Jocelyn refused to call Bree until Rachel agreed.

  “But you live in the house that greed built. And you have three dogs.”r />
  “Seven, actually. Hester just had puppies.” Jocelyn tried to hide her amusement at her mother’s dismay. “Relax, they’re still basically blind and deaf. They can’t do anything except eat and sleep.”

  Rachel looked horrified. “I don’t want to live like that.”

  “I know, but Mom? We’re out of options.”

  Her mother glowered for a moment, then relented. “Fine. But I’m going to pay you rent.”

  Jocelyn laughed. “Never going to happen.”

  “I insist.”

  “I refuse to take any money from you, now or ever.”

  “I’ll slip it into your wallet when you’re not looking,” Rachel threatened.

  “I’ll put it back in your wallet, plus interest,” Jocelyn retorted.

  “I refuse to be a freeloader.”

  “You’re my mother,” Jocelyn pointed out. “You’ve done everything for me for my entire life. Will you please stop talking crazy and hang out at my house for a few weeks?”

  “Fine. But I’ll earn my keep somehow.”

  “Actually.” Jocelyn brightened. “There is something I need help with in the immediate future.”

  chapter 16

  “Life is so weird,” Jocelyn said to Bree as they approached the front door of the address Veronika had given them.

  “I’m aware.” Bree was decked out in her rendition of “posh palm reader”: little black dress, patent peep-toe pumps, and a huge, multifaceted crystal pendant.

  “I’m supposed to scour the earth for a dog that’s fast enough, handsome enough, and virile enough to get with Carmen.”

  “This all sounds very patriarchal,” Bree said. “Doesn’t she get any say in who she wants to sleep with?”

  “Sure. She can refuse to have anything to do with the other dog. She has a long history of doing just that. The vet said I might have to take her all the way to Ireland for the canine version of The Bachelorette. She’s exhausted all the options in the continental U.S.”