The Dog Town Collection Read online

  She trailed off again and Arden looked up from her sketch. “And then…?”

  “And then… we built a garden together.”

  “A garden! I did not see that coming.”

  “Tiller dug up most of my parents’ grass one weekend when they were away. My mom fainted—or pretended to.”

  “Drama queen,” Arden said, tapping her pencil hard on a lip stud.

  “Truth. But the yard did look awful for awhile. Tiller brought over all kinds of plants from his family’s garden: tulips, lilacs, irises, peonies, lilies, and chrysanthemums. He had it planned so there was always something blooming from April to November.”

  “So you weren’t wrong: he was a total nerd.”

  Remi shrugged. “The garden filled out over the years and Mom never changed a thing. She says it’s beautiful, but I don’t go back there to see it unless I have to.”

  Now Arden put down her pencil. “I had no idea you were holding onto all that. We’ll need more gin, my friend.”

  Remi took another swig before noticing Leo had wandered. The dog could rival Marcus for stealth if there was a stray crumb in the vicinity. Kneeling, she saw him under the bleachers chewing a wrapper.

  “It sounds like Tiller was a good guy back then,” Arden said, glancing over at blue hair as she finished her drawing.

  “I guess. He didn’t seem to mind that I was… awkward. He’d meet me at my locker between classes, sit with me out here at lunch sometimes.” Remi looked up at Arden from where she knelt. “I got braver around him. Even agreed to go to prom.”

  “But then something happened.”

  “It was high school. Something was always happening.”

  As if on cue, a titter started farther down the bleachers. The teens were getting their second wind.

  Ambling out, Leo raised his muzzle to sniff. Remi turned to see a small gold dog racing across the field, dragging its leash. Behind the dog came a tall girl with lanky blonde hair. She was running clumsily, as if her feet were weighted. Her arms were outstretched, carefully holding something in a green garbage bag.

  “Nugget,” she called. “Nugget!”

  The heckling started immediately. “Nugget, oh Nugget! Come to Frankenstein.”

  “Oh jeez.” Remi cringed. “The poor kid.”

  “Just leave it,” Arden said. “You’ll make it worse for her, Remi.”

  Leo raced across the field to intercept Nugget. The two dogs began roughhousing and when the girl reached them, Nugget’s leash twisted around her legs. She went down hard, her feet flying up in the air.

  The hilarity from the cheap seats escalated. Someone was going to choke if Remi didn’t choke them first.

  Hurrying over, Remi bent to untangle the leash and then offered her hand to the girl. “Oh. You’re Brianne, right? From the Barton Gallery café?”

  Brianne nodded before taking Remi’s hand and scrambling to her feet. “My sculpture,” she said, looking around. “Where is it? Oh no!”

  Leo had stopped playing long enough to nose open the garbage bag and expose Brianne’s art project. There was a pause as he considered his usual options for strange objects: eat it, pee on it, or roll in it.

  “No, Leo! Leave it.” Remi’s tone was sharp enough that he stopped with one hind leg in the air. Offering the beagle-equivalent to a shrug and “whatever,” he trotted back to Nugget and initiated a play pose.

  Meanwhile, the heckling swelled as the spectators tired of being ignored.

  Brianne’s face had flushed a blotchy pink. “I friggin’ hate school,” she said.

  “I did, too,” Remi said, bending to pick up Brianne’s statue. “It gets better, I promise.”

  “I hope so.” Brianne gave a shaky sigh. “Senior year’s starting out fantastic. My entry for the art show got peed on.”

  Remi turned the object in her hands. It was a fanciful sculpture of a dog, with what appeared to be a unicorn’s horn sprouting out of its forehead. “It’s fine. Leo didn’t hit it.”

  “It’s better than fine,” Arden said, taking the sculpture from Remi. “That’s a nice little piece. You’re saying Nugget is as rare as the proverbial unicorn, right?”

  Brianne brightened. “Exactly. It’s my entry for the school art contest.”

  “I bet you’ll win,” Arden said. “You’re talented.”

  “Really?” Brianne’s flush deepened. “I don’t know…”

  “You can take Arden’s word for it,” Remi said. “She’s a trained artist.”

  Rooting around in her purse, Remi pulled out an envelope.

  “Granny… granny… GRANNY,” the hecklers chanted.

  “Granny?” Brianne said. “That’s a new one.”

  “I think I’m the target now,” Remi said, pressing the envelope into Brianne’s hand.

  “What’s this?” Suspicion crossed Brianne’s face when she peeked into the envelope, as if she feared being pranked. “Tickets for the concert tomorrow night? But it’s sold out.”

  “Not for you. And Nugget if you want to take him. And a human friend.”

  Arden cleared her throat. “Uh, Rems? Aren’t those meant for—?”

  “A worthy cause, yes,” Remi interrupted. “I want Brianne to have them.”

  Brianne hesitated. Her eyes flicked toward the bleachers and sweat trickled down her cheek. “Are you sure?”

  “Take them and go. We’re just going to stand here till you’re out of sight, okay?”

  Remi turned to face the bleachers and the taunts subsided quickly.

  Meanwhile, Arden folded her sketch of the blue-haired girl into a paper airplane and sent it soaring toward the bleachers. “Marcus is going to kill you, Rems.”

  “He can try. But I just survived high school a second time. I feel like I can handle anything.”

  As she bent to hook up Leo’s leash, someone called, “Remola Malone? Is that you?”

  Remi turned in the direction of the newest school building. Coming toward them was a gray-haired woman wearing chinos and sensible shoes. She had an angular face and a frosty smile that looked like it could turn a teen to stone, if needed.

  “Miss Donlands?” she said.

  “Mrs. Coxwell, now,” the woman said. “But you can call me Kathy.”

  “Never,” Remi said, smiling. “It’s a sign of respect for my favorite teacher.”

  “I’m the principal now. Just back in town.” Mrs. Coxwell shook Remi’s hand and then Arden’s. She hadn’t even looked at the bleachers, but there was a flurry as the teens gathered their things. “I heard you work in fundraising, Remola. It would be wonderful if you’d come out to our Career Day and tell the students about fundraising.” She finally cast sharp blue eyes over Remi’s shoulder. “Some of them could benefit from a more generous perspective on the world.”

  “Career Day?” It was always hard to evade community events in Dorset Hills. There was no pressure like small town pressure. “Well, sure.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll see you at 10, then.”

  “At 10? When?”

  The principal’s blue gaze warmed slightly. “Tomorrow. We like to kick the school year off right. I saw how kind you were to Brianne, and I know you’ll inspire students.”

  Arden made a snuffling sound as she choked back laughter.

  “I guess I can spare an hour or two before the parade,” Remi said. Gesturing toward Arden with a thumb, she added, “Could you use a graphic artist?”

  “Oh my, yes,” Principal Coxwell said. “In fact, we could really use another judge on the contest panel.”

  After they exchanged contact information, the principal pulled breath mints out of her pocket and offered the packet to each of them.

  “Oh god,” Remi said, as they walked back to the street. “She could smell the gin.”

  “It’s okay, Remola,” Arden said. “You’re legal, now.”

  “You’re right.” Remi turned and scowled in the school’s general direction. “Hit me with more of that truth serum. Let’s see wha
t else it has to say.”

  Chapter 7

  The school auditorium reeked of sweat, fear and cheap cologne, just as it always had. Today, long rows of desks older than Remi herself sat along both sides, with a piece of Bristol board taped to the front of each. Remi’s station was easy enough to find. “Remola Malone” had been scrawled on the sign with a red marker, unlike the neat black print on the others. She pulled a pen out of her purse and scribbled out the “ola” and replaced the letters with an oversized “i.” Maybe it was a juvenile protest, but the setting was right.

  Squeezing between the desk and the chair attached to it, she instantly felt smaller and younger. It was a like wearing an old costume that didn’t quite zip up. Her skin crawled and she plucked at her black jacket. Deciding what to wear to sell a career like fundraising hadn’t been easy and a glance around suggested she’d made the wrong choice. There were women in pretty dresses, men in business casual, a firefighter and police officer in uniform and a couple of people in medical scrubs. Remi felt like an uptight “suit,” which wasn’t appropriate for her job at all. Most of the time she wore jeans to her basement lair.

  The black suit was a mistake for a more obvious reason: Leo’s white hairs stood out all over the jacket and fluttered under the massive overhead fans that whirled dank air around. Her hair swirled and swelled into a frizzy cloud that would need to be tamed before the parade later. There was no room for Leo on her lap, so he settled at her feet, panting.

  The auditorium filled with kind-hearted Dorset Hills suckers like her who couldn’t say no to Principal Coxwell. The teens they were there to influence were in short supply. They were probably out on the bleachers influencing each other.

  Remi waved to Mim Gardiner, a nurse she knew well from the hospital. There were at least half a dozen other familiar faces—people Remi had met in her travels through the boardrooms and social venues of Dog Town. Despite the queasy feeling in her stomach from last night’s truth serum, she smiled. Here in this auditorium was a fundraising lead, she was sure of it. When Principal Coxwell set her free, she’d work the big room with Leo and her business card.

  Arden was already on the prowl. Below the stage at the front of the auditorium sat three long tables displaying entries for the art contest. There were paintings, sculptures made out of reclaimed metal, and mixed media pieces so busy and confusing it made Remi’s head ache even more. But Arden’s ready smile flashed and her lively hands fluttered as she pointed out the various virtues of each work to passersby. Maybe Arden would feel differently if this were her own high school, but Remi doubted it. Her friend seemed in her element, even flirting with a shaggy-haired teacher in a plaid tie that clashed with his even louder plaid shirt.

  Some things never change,” someone said. “Still on the sidelines judging.”

  Remi looked up to see Tiller Iverson eyeing the sign on her desk. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “That’s what I remember, anyway,” he said. His dark eyes rose and settled somewhere over her left shoulder. Since there was only a brick wall behind her, he obviously didn’t want to look right at her. Maybe he was afraid she’d turn him to stone, like Medusa.

  Leo came out from under the desk and sniffed around Tiller’s feet. The dog’s normally jaunty tail was at half mast. It wouldn’t have taken much attention from Tiller to hoist it, but he ignored the beagle. At least he hadn’t brought Roxy along. There were lots of dogs on site, and they might have caused a spectacle.

  “I’m sure we remember many things differently,” Remi said. “Maybe everything.”

  Other words formed in her mouth like broken glass, but didn’t get a chance to cut anyone. Principal Coxwell had emerged from the growing crowd, wearing gray slacks with a turquoise twin set that made her eyes seem pale.

  “Why, Tiller Iverson,” she said. “How wonderful to see you here, supporting Remola.”

  Tiller made a little sound, as if stale air had blocked his windpipe. Then his head swivelled, as if looking for an escape route. “Hello, Miss Donlands. You look well.”

  “Principal Coxwell, now,” she said. “I’m back after a long stint in Kansas City, and I must say it’s wonderful to see you two together. Your teen romance was one of the sweetest I had the dubious pleasure to see bloom. So few of them last, but I knew you’d go the distance. You were so well-matched.”

  The cut glass words in Remi’s mouth seemed to reverse course down her throat and lodge there, strangling her.

  Tiller found his voice first. “Spoken like a true romantic, ma’am. I should have known that, since you forced us to read ‘Romeo and Juliet’ aloud in ninth grade.”

  The principal laughed. Tiller had always had a way with authority figures, a talent that got him out of trouble often. Her father had been strict, but even he’d turned a blind eye when Tiller stayed too late or dug up their yard.

  “That play is a tragedy, Tiller,” the principal said. “Hardly the right metaphor for your thriving relationship.”

  Tiller looked as if he’d like to correct her, but he pressed his lips together, perhaps remembering everyone could be a potential donor, even his old teacher. “All I can say is that Shakespeare was torture,” he said. “Not as bad as Jane Austen, but bad enough.”

  The principal tipped her head skeptically. “You got through a Jane Austen novel?”

  Tiller finally grinned. “The things we’ll do to impress a girl.”

  “I’d give you a pop quiz but duty calls,” the principal said, smirking a little as she parted the crowd with a strategic elbow.

  “Did she always smirk like that?” Tiller asked.

  Remi shrugged. “She couldn’t survive three decades of teen drama without a sense of humor.”

  “Well, enjoy sharing your fundraising expertise with the teens.” He made a show of looking around. “Although no one’s visiting your station. Don’t take it personally. Fundraising isn’t exactly sexy.”

  He scanned her black suit and suddenly she felt overheated. The overhead fans seemed capable of lifting the school into flight, but weren’t enough to keep her from flushing.

  “Stick around and share the load,” she said. “You’re a fundraiser too, now. Apparently.”

  “Not really,” he said. “I just needed a job fast, and figured I could wing it.”

  Her embarrassment turned to annoyance. She’d worked long and hard to win this opportunity and Tiller thought he could just wing it. “It’s harder than it looks, you know.”

  “I’m a quick study.” His smirk rivalled the principal’s as he backed away. “See you at the parade.”

  She waited till he turned to call after him, “Which Jane Austen novel?”

  Most people would cite the easy ones, like Pride and Prejudice or Emma. Her personal favorite was Persuasion, but he couldn’t know that.

  Tiller looked back, and while his eyes were still hard, his smirk softened to a grin. “All of them,” he said. “Twice.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I could ace Coxwell’s pop quiz,” he said.

  “You must have really liked that girl,” Remi said. She knew it wasn’t her, since she hadn’t discovered Austen till college, long after Tiller had moved on. Someone had inspired more in him than she ever could.

  “Still do,” he said, shrugging. “Austen isn’t enough, though.”

  With that, he merged into the teen foot traffic. There were hoards of them now, but they didn’t seem to have much interest in speaking to the professionals in the room. Instead they were taking selfies and comparing results.

  Arden joined Remi the second Tiller was gone. “Tell me everything,” she said.

  “He hates Romeo and Juliet and has read all of Jane Austen.”

  Arden made a face. “I mean, tell me everything important.”

  “A man’s taste in books is important,” Remi said. “Less important than his taste in dogs, of course, but a key indicator of character.”

  “Please,” Arden said, scanning he
r. “You look hot, Remi, and not in a good way. Sweaty. Flushed. Like you used to, right before you fainted.” There was a pause, and then, they said together, “Where’s Leo?”

  The dog was nowhere in sight. Remi’s heart raced. With so many people and dogs, how would he hear when she called?

  “He’s pretty much trapped in here,” Arden said. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

  “Is there a food table?” Remi asked. “That would be his first stop.”

  Arden pointed to a spot near the exit. “There’s a bake sale. I’ll stay here while you take a look.”

  Panic barely had a chance to take root before she found her beagle weaving through feet and snuffling up crumbs. His tail beat steadily like a metronome and picked up speed when he saw her.

  “Don’t you take off on me like that,” she said, grabbing him. “Do you have any idea how—”

  “Much trouble you’ll be in with your trainer?” someone interrupted.

  Cori Hogan’s gloved hand formed a pistol, with both index and middle fingers extended.

  Remi kissed Leo’s head. Her relief over finding him was greater than her shame over being caught. “I’m sorry, Cori,” she said. “I’m having a teenage meltdown today.”

  Cori looked around the auditorium and shuddered. “Don’t blame you. I hated high school. The only thing that made me say yes to the principal was that it wasn’t my high school. Turns out they all feel the same.”

  A group of teens gathered nearby, staring at them and giggling. “Could we talk to you?” a girl with two long braids said.

  “Of course,” Remi said.

  “Not you,” Braids said. “Her. Cori is the best dog trainer in town. She’s a celebrity.”

  “Don’t waste flattery on me,” Cori said, rolling her eyes. “But if you come over to my desk, I’ll share the secrets of my success.”

  By the time Remi returned to her own desk, Arden was standing with another woman who had a sketchbook in her hand. It was Flynn Strathmore, a cartoonist, who’d found fame and fortune by sketching her beautiful king shepherd, Majesty. Flynn attended most community events, generously lending her talent to raise thousands for any good cause, including the hospital foundation. She had pieces to share because her fingers were constantly sketching. Remi suspected Flynn’s sketchbook offered comfort when Majesty couldn’t. The huge—and protective shepherd—wasn’t as welcome at events as Leo.