The Dog Town Collection Page 7

  “It’s still sweet,” Remi said. “You just need to know where to bite.”

  James moved a little closer and his cologne swirled around Remi. It had a vaguely exotic scent, peppery and yet rich. “Sounds delicious,” he said. “Why don’t you show us around a bit and then we’ll grab a late lunch?”

  “Jay, we promised Bill we’d join him at the golf club,” Hannah said.

  “Can’t we—” He caught his sister’s eye. “Right. It’s a command performance.”

  Tiller stepped forward. “Are you two free later? There’s a street party tonight, and a concert with a great lineup.”

  Hannah beamed at him. “A concert sounds like fun.”

  A chill shot down Remi’s spine. She hadn’t told Tiller the concert tickets had gone to a good cause. Now, she’d have to get creative.

  “Maybe you’d prefer an insider’s tour of Dorset Hills,” she said. “There are places that never make it into the City’s official brochure.”

  “Count me in,” Jay said. “Go to the concert if you want, Hannah. Remi can show me around.”

  Hannah and Tiller chimed “No” at once.

  “Then it’s unanimous,” James said. “We’ll meet back here at six for drinks and a tour.”

  “Perfect,” Remi said, opening the door to the booth. “Have fun with the mayor.”

  “You two can come,” James said.

  Remi was already on the stairs. “Tiller and I need to get back to the office.”

  Tiller hesitated. “Well, I could—”

  “The dogs are alone,” she reminded him.

  Grumbling, Tiller followed Remi up the street. “I don’t know about your dog, but Roxy can manage on her own for more than a few hours.”

  “Of course.” Remi stayed a few paces ahead of him, weaving through the dispersing crowds in Bellington Square. “But the mayor will want Hannah’s full attention. There’s no point clinging like we’re desperate.”

  He caught up with her. “Speak for yourself. I know, Bill, remember?”

  “I do remember… but keep mentioning it.” She jogged a couple of steps to get ahead of him again.

  Tiller huffed in disgust. “I don’t want to be mean, but—”

  “Then don’t. Like it or not, we’re a team on this account.”

  “You used to be nice,” he continued. “Dog Town’s given you a nasty edge.”

  She gave him the side eye as he caught up again. “How would you even know? I barely said two words to you all the time we were…” The word caught in her throat. “I mean, for the short time we knew each other.”

  “Liar,” he said. “And speaking of lying, what happened to the concert tickets? Did you scalp them?”

  “Hardly. I gave them to a teenager last night.”

  “They were meant for our clients.”

  “Hannah and Jay could buy every seat in the house if they wanted. This kid needed something good to happen to her. She was getting bullied near the bleachers.”

  Tiller gave her a funny look. “Do you think you might have taken your return to Dorset Hills High School too seriously?”

  “Probably,” Remi said. “But I’ll figure out something interesting to do with the Pembertons.”

  “James seems to be counting on it.” Now Tiller got ahead of her and stayed there.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said to the back of his head. She was surprised to see how wavy his hair was. In school he’d practically shaved it, like most of the basketball team.

  “Just that James seems to be taken with you. Too bad Hannah holds the family purse strings, or the donation would probably be yours.”

  They were already outside foundation headquarters, and he walked ahead of her up the stairs.

  “Hannah seems to be taken with you, so I guess I’ll be stuck in the basement forever.”

  Tiller shrugged as he opened the door for her. “Good thing you got some sun then.”

  She stepped inside ahead of him and walked across the gleaming hardwood of the mansion’s grand foyer. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Tiller stopped for a moment beside a long red couch. “This is really something.”

  Remi turned. The leather couch was low and narrow, with the clean, modern lines Marcus favored. Like the plastic chairs in his office, and the sling chairs in the boardroom, the couch was uncomfortable. It sent a message not to hang around too long.

  “It’s a Gia Gianneschi,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “A very expensive designer couch that’s meant to be admired, not used.” She lowered her voice. “It’s Marcus’ pride and joy.”

  “Really.”

  “Yep.” She slipped around the corner and started down the stairs. “See you in Bellington Square at six.”

  “Let’s go together,” he called after her. “I’ll walk behind if you like. The scenery’s not half bad.”

  She paused on the stairs, wondering if he was talking about her butt. But then she remembered there was precious little to see of it in her granny dress. “Okay, then. Five-thirty at the Gianneschi. But don’t touch.”

  Craven Road was one of the best-kept secrets in Dorset Hills. The long street hadn’t been much to look at when Remi was a child, but even before the magazine feature that turned Dorset Hills into Dog Town, this neighborhood had begun its own transformation. One by one the residents renovated their homes from workers’ cottages into something special. They put in basements and raised the tiny houses high. The large front windows all faced west and gleamed like fiery eyes when the sun was setting. On the other side of the road was a fence that separated the street from the railway tracks. The section of fence in front of each house became a canvas for artwork. Some owners painted murals, others created installations from random objects, and still others put up shelves to display ceramics or potted plants. There were more than a dozen quaint boxes like oversize birdhouses that served as community libraries.

  Tonight, the road was closed to vehicular traffic. Residents had set up tables and grills in front of their homes and offered food and drink to neighbors and visitors. Remi knew to start at the north end and walk south because the menu was staged. They began with cocktails and appetizers, moved on to grilled meats and salads, and finished with fancy desserts and even champagne. Residents asked for a ‘pay what you can’ donation to the street fund, but it wasn’t enforced.

  James and Tiller enthusiastically sampled the food at every stop, but Hannah was too busy examining the artwork to eat. She spoke to every homeowner about their exhibit and listened eagerly to their stories.

  Meanwhile, dozens of dogs ran free through the crowds. All of them got along, and only occasionally was there a shout as an ambitious canine ambushed a food table.

  “This is incredible,” Hannah said, sipping from the plastic glass of wine Tiller had put in her hand. “Does the city fund it?”

  “On the contrary,” Remi said. “Residents have a very vocal committee that resists City interference. They even imported their own Victorian style lampposts from London. It hasn’t been easy. Council prefers a certain uniformity these days.”

  “You got that right,” someone said behind her. “And they want to stifle Craven Road.”

  Remi turned to see a woman wearing overalls spattered with bright blue paint. There was a baby on her hip, and a gorgeous golden retriever by her side. Behind them was a mural featuring the retriever sitting on a tightrope in the middle of a line of birds, against a blue background.

  “I love your work,” Hannah told the woman. “It’s funny and original.”

  “Thanks. It gets better every time I paint it, which is lucky since it’s the third time this month. Someone’s been coming around in the night and whitewashing it.”

  “What? Since when are dog-birds offensive?” Remi asked.

  “Well, it’s not personal. They go as far up the block as they can and then jump over the fence when someone comes out. We set up a security camera and found it’s a
couple of men in balaclavas.”

  “That’s terrible,” Hannah said. “Have you complained to the police?

  The woman snorted. “Some think it is the police—working under the mayor’s orders.”

  “Mayor Bradshaw couldn’t take issue with art like this,” Hannah said. “It’s fun and unique, and it’s clearly bringing the neighborhood together.”

  “We’ll see. We’ve got a plan but we need to get some funds together.”

  Hannah pulled her wallet out of her purse and found only a five-dollar bill. “That’s all I’ve got. James, do you have cash?”

  “Five is fine,” the woman in overalls said. “Thank you.”

  James handed Hannah his wallet. She pulled out all his cash and tucked a stack of bills into the woman’s front pocket. “You keep doing what you’re doing. I think it’s amazing.”

  As they moved on, Tiller and Hannah fell back. James grabbed a shrimp kabob and said, “It’s all just as tasty as you promised.”

  “I love these parties,” Remi said, stepping aside to avoid three dogs roughhousing. “Even in Dog Town it’s rare to see kids and dogs running around like this. There’s an old-fashioned sense of community.”

  Dusk had fallen and the twinkle lights came on all at once. There was a collective gasp and then applause. Thousands of tiny white lights framed the fence. On the other side of the street, they looped around trees, bushes and lampposts. The effect was magical.

  James glanced back at the other two, and Remi turned, too. Hannah’s hand was in the crook of Tiller’s arm and the expression on her face switched between pleasure and sadness.

  “Our mom would have loved all this,” James said. “That’s why Hannah’s upset.”

  Remi nodded. “She said your mom never wanted to leave.”

  James’ ever-present smile faded slightly. “That’s true. It was a kneejerk reaction. I’m not even sure what happened, because I didn’t come home much after leaving for college.”

  “It surprised everyone,” Remi said. “One day your family was just gone. The house sat empty for nearly a year.”

  “My parents couldn’t agree. Mom wanted to come back but Dad didn’t. Maybe Hannah knows what happened, but I don’t.”

  “Your mom was so fun and full of life when Hannah and I were kids. I loved watching her walk those wolfhounds. They actually listened.”

  He dumped the kabob into a trash can, uneaten, and then picked up a glass of red wine from a tray. The twinkle lights reflected in his dark pupils. “I thought this trip might answer some questions,” he said.

  “There’s still time. The gala isn’t till tomorrow night.”

  Hannah and Tiller had stopped under a tall, sparkly tree. She was looking up, either at him or at the lights, but there was something in their posture that gave Remi’s heart a pang. It reminded her of a romantic scene from a Jane Austen novel. Maybe Hannah was the one that inspired Tiller to read them all. Twice.

  “She’s spoken of Tiller often over the years,” James said. “They seem to have a quite a connection.”

  Remi nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “I wish she’d talk to me,” he said. “We’re close in lots of ways, but…”

  “It’s like that for my brother and me, too,” Remi said. “We’re so different, though. Not like you and Hannah.”

  As they reached the end of the long street, Tiller and James joined a few kids shooting hoops with a glow-in-the dark basketball. Eventually the kids fell back and the guys went one-on-one. Against the general backdrop of laughter and camaraderie in the crowd, the two men seemed suddenly intense. There was no jocular ribbing between them, just the thumping of the ball, heavy breathing, and clanging as the ball hit the rim again and again.

  “What’s with them?” Hannah asked.

  Remi shrugged. “I never got the man manual.”

  “Me either,” Hannah said, laughing. “James, Tiller! Time to call it a night!”

  Her voice reminded Remi of days long ago, when moms would come out to the street and shout for their kids after the streetlights came on. Now that was probably only possible on Craven Road, where people knew how community really worked.

  James came running up, his grin restored. “You’ll come tomorrow night, Remi?”

  “For the gala?” She turned to Tiller and saw it was news to him too.

  “Please come, both of you,” Hannah said. “And bring the dogs.”

  “Yeah, bring that beagle,” James said. “We’ve got business to sort out. Man to man.”

  “Leo doesn’t shoot hoops,” Remi said. “But if you ask him to dance, he might say yes.”

  James’ teeth flashed as he unbuttoned his shirt to cool off. Remi turned away quickly. “Oh, look! A Berger Picard! The oldest French sheepdog. Excuse me… I’ve never met one.”

  James, Hannah and Tiller called after her, but she was already gone.

  Chapter 10

  The scream coming through the closed door was high-pitched and eerie.

  Remi stopped halfway up the front stairs of the foundation mansion and froze. It was just after seven on Sunday morning. No one should have been inside. She’d counted on some quiet time to dig up a promising tidbit of information about the Pembertons that could help her into the lead. Tiller might have influence over Hannah, but it was unlikely that he could rival Remi’s research skills.

  “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She turned to see Tiller standing at the bottom of the stairs with Roxy. Either he was spying on her, or he had a plan, too.

  The dog’s hackles rose when she saw Leo and he responded with a low rumble from deep in his chest. Remi hadn’t known Leo owned a growl like that.

  “Someone screamed inside,” Remi told Tiller. “Or something. We should call 911.”

  He pushed ahead of her up the stairs. “Let’s take a look first.”

  “Wait.” She caught his arm. “It sounded… feral.”

  “Then I’m going to need both arms, Remi.”

  She released him and he turned the knob. The door was unlocked and opened easily. Sunlight poured through the rectangle of the doorway and outlined a man on his knees in the foyer beside the couch. His hands covered his face, and he rocked back and forth, moaning, “No, no, no.”

  “Marcus?” Remi ran up the last stairs and pushed past Tiller. “Marcus! Are you okay?”

  Leo ran ahead of her and started pawing at Marcus, straining to lick his face. Marcus swatted him away, practically knocking the dog over. “It was you.” His voice low and harsh. “You did this.”

  “Stop,” Remi said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Marcus averted his face and gestured toward the couch. Remi saw that the red leather fabric across one corner had been torn. Mangled, really. White stuffing spilled out of a gaping hole about 10 inches in diameter.

  “My Gia Gianneschi.” He sounded near tears. “Your dog wrecked my Gianneschi.”

  “Leo’s never chewed furniture,” Remi said. “Besides, that’s a lot of damage for a small dog. It must have been Roxy.”

  “Excuse me?” Tiller’s eyes widened in indignation. “My dog doesn’t wreck things.”

  Remi tried to help Marcus to his feet but he swatted her too. “Get away from me. I paid for half of this couch out of my own money. The foundation’s design budget was pathetic. No one else realizes that our donors need to feel at home when they visit. They know a Gianneschi when they see it.”

  Circling Marcus, Remi perched on the couch. He tried to slap her away from that, too, but she blocked his hand. “Just let me look at it.” She saw dozens of puncture marks from fangs, but it seemed like they could have come from either dog.

  “Are you telling me neither one of you noticed this yesterday?” Marcus asked.

  “Of course not,” Remi said, and Tiller shook his head too. “The dogs were shut in our offices when we met the Pembertons in the evening.”

  “Roxy was at the door when I came for her,”
Tiller added. “I thought Remi had let her out. I didn’t even turn on the lights.”

  “Same with Leo,” Remi said. “Someone obviously let them loose, Marcus, but it wasn’t us.”

  “Who would have done that?” he said. “No one who wants a job here.”

  Remi bent and examined the red scraps scattered on the floor like droplets of blood. “There’s not enough fabric here to cover the hole.”

  “Meaning what?” Marcus snapped.

  “Meaning the truth will emerge from the guilty dog in due course,” Tiller said.

  Finally, Marcus pushed himself to his feet without touching the couch. His treasure had been sullied. “Bring me evidence. Then the owner will cover the cost of repair.”

  Remi gasped. “This probably can’t be repaired. The whole couch will need to be recovered. It’ll cost—”

  “A couple of grand.” Marcus dusted his knees. “In the meantime, the dogs are banned—from this office and from events. Now get out. I want to be alone to grieve.”

  “What exactly do you hope to achieve here?” Tiller asked, pulling into the parking lot at the foot of the hills.

  “Peace and goodwill among dogs.” Remi stroked Leo’s head, despite his continual growling. Roxy was behind a grate in the back of the SUV, offering sharp, high barks intended to puncture eardrums. At least it had made conversation nearly impossible during the drive.

  Glancing at Leo, he said, “You shouldn’t reinforce bad behavior by soothing him. You’re signaling there’s reason to be upset.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been yelling at Roxy and she’s yelling back. How is that better, exactly?”

  “It wasn’t yelling,” he said, backing into a parking spot. “I spoke assertively. Like a leader.”

  “Any more assertively and we’d all be submissive peeing.”

  Tiller tried to hold in his snort of laughter. “Not in my car, please.”

  “Let’s just see how these two do off leash together. Leo’s trainer, Cori, says that dogs that run together form a pack whether they want to or not.”