The Dog Town Collection Read online

  He turned off the ignition and got out of the car. “Leo has a trainer? I find that hard to believe.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Remi said. “You’ve obviously never met a trainer. Cori is the best in town.”

  Roxy came out of the back like a rocket and started jumping at Leo, who was still in Remi’s arms. She lifted her knee to block her.

  Tiller held Roxy by the collar and the dog strained against him. “I learned everything I needed to know online.”

  “That’s worked out so well.” Stepping away from the car, Remi pulled a ball out of her pocket and tossed it to Tiller. “I’m going to walk ahead for a bit and let Leo loose. I suggest you toss the ball for Roxy to burn off some steam and then join us.”

  “That’ll help how?” he asked.

  “Just trust me,” she said, walking off. “I learned it online so it must be true.”

  “You’re funny,” he called after her.

  She waved backwards and hoped he noticed it was mostly middle finger.

  “I see that,” he said.

  Remi strode up the hill, feeling calmer with every step. She loved the trails and came often. Leo romped ahead but never went too far. Obviously, Tiller was wrong. Leo might be a bit spoiled but he was a good dog, and beloved wherever he went. She was quite sure the poop report would confirm that Roxy, that sly fox, was the perpetrator of the couch crime. It wasn’t totally her fault, though. Tiller had no idea how to handle a spirited dog. He used to be good with dogs, but he must have lost his touch in the big city. At least there was something to be said for sticking around Dog Town.

  She stopped and waited for Tiller at Clifford’s Crest, a wide plateau with a spectacular view of the green rolling hills and the towns nestled in the valleys. The white steeples and red-roofed homes of Pemsville, their closest neighbor and civic competitor, caught Remi’s eye. If she ever wanted to buy a house, she’d have to move there. Real estate prices had soared in Dorset Hills, and she’d been lucky even to find an apartment within walking distance of the city core.

  Finally, there was panting behind her, and Roxy came bounding up the trail ahead of Tiller. There was a smile on his face, and Roxy looked like she was smiling, too. The trails did that to dogs and owners alike. The breeze and the scenery seemed to push worry right out of the climber’s mind.

  Leo came racing back down the trail and shot at Roxy. Her hackles rose, but at the last moment, she dodged and ran. Then she lowered her front end in a play pose, tail wagging. Leo stopped, evaluated the situation, and then raced up the trail again. He looked back to encourage Roxy to follow.

  “The trails make friends out of strangers, and even enemies,” Remi said, laughing as the dogs scampered ahead of them.

  “I hate to say you’re right, but…”

  The dogs raced in wide circles at the next plateau, and the hard run produced the inevitable results. At about the same moment, both dogs squatted side by side to poop. Remi raced ahead of Tiller to get the first look at Roxy’s output.

  “What do you feed this dog?” she asked. “It’s black as coal.”

  “Bison,” he said, kneeling beside her and shrugging off his backpack. “It hides bits of couch very nicely it seems.”

  Though a lighter tint, Leo’s poop was no more revealing.

  “Bag it,” Remi said.

  “You don’t think Marcus is serious about testing, do you? It’s just a couch, albeit an expensive one.”

  “It’s more than a couch to him. It’s like a… well, like a pet, I guess. I don’t know that he’ll go so far as to test the poop but we’ll have to humor him. I need Leo in the office, Tiller. I work long hours.”

  “Well, I need Roxy there, too. I can’t leave her at home right now.”

  His tone was grim so she didn’t press him to elaborate.

  “Well, maybe we won’t need to. For the moment, the dogs are getting along.”

  “But what about the couch? I thought Marcus might cry.”

  “I’m going to offer him my couch. It’s not a Gianneschi, but it’s decent. I’m not really home enough to need it.”

  Tiller stared at her. “You know that’s nuts, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Leo at work.”

  “Honestly,” Tiller grumbled, pulling a poop bag out of his pocket. “Why is having Leo there so important? Separation anxiety?”

  Sitting back on her heels, Remi studied Tiller’s face. Out here, he didn’t seem like such a threat. “Yes. But not his.”

  He stared at her, brown eyes puzzled. “Meaning what, exactly?”

  A commotion ahead saved her from answering. A blonde woman came running around the bend. She stopped when she saw them. Remi realized how odd it must look, both of them kneeling before piles of poop in some strange ritual.

  “Please, can you help me?” The woman sounded on the verge of hysterics.

  Tiller jumped to his feet and grabbed his backpack. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s my dog.” Tears spilled over and ran down her face. “Hank. He chased a squirrel up on a ledge and now he’s stuck. I don’t know what to do.”

  Remi hooked her pink baseball cap on a shrub so they could find the poop on the way back and then they followed the woman. She heard whining long before she saw Hank, a huge, tri-color Bernese mountain dog. He was standing on an outcropping of rock maybe six feet long and three feet deep. Under it was dry, shifting soil that wouldn’t hold for scrabbling paws. She didn’t really blame the dog for being afraid to slide down 40 feet.

  “Not true to his mountain dog heritage, is he?” Tiller said, grinning.

  “He’s crossed with a poodle,” the woman said. “I think he’s picked up the worst traits of both breeds.”

  “He’s still young, right?” Remi stared up at Hank. “He looks like a big puppy.”

  “An impulsive teen,” the woman said. “I’m Marti Forrester. At least, until I have to go back to my maiden name. My husband will kill me if I come home without Hank. I promised I wouldn’t let him off leash, but Hank loves to run. Oliver says I’m too soft on the dog.”

  Tiller gave Remi a significant look, but all he said was, “We’ll get him down, don’t worry.”

  “But how? I’ve called and called. He won’t move.”

  “I have an idea.” Turning, he bellowed, “Roxy!”

  Roxy and Leo came thundering up the path, dirty and drooling. Their tails wagged as if they had been best friends forever.

  Up on the ledge, Hank’s whining ramped up. Some of the dirt gave way. He yelped and Marti screamed.

  “It’s okay, Marti,” Tiller said. “Even if he comes down the hard way he’ll be fine. It’s only 40 feet.”

  She wrung her hands. “I don’t know… Hank is accident prone. Our vet bills are ridiculous.”

  “Try to calm down,” Remi said, patting Marti’s arm. “He’s picking up on your anxiety. I know this because I’m guilty of it myself. Just take some deep breaths.”

  She led Marti over to a boulder, gestured for her to sit, and then perched beside her.

  “What’s he going to do?” Marti asked, watching Tiller.

  “Just wait and see.” Remi had no idea what he had planned. “I know it’s hard as a dog owner, but sometimes you need to let go and have faith.”

  Marti’s lips twitched in a nervous smile. “Not just as a dog owner.”

  Remi offered her hand, and Marti took it. They sat watching as Tiller paced and plotted.

  In the end, his solution was surprisingly simple. Tiller threw the ball and got Roxy to retrieve it. Leo pursued Roxy and the two kibitzed so much that Hank got curious. Instead of whining and spinning on the small ledge, his head followed the dogs this way and that. It became more compelling to come down than stay up. The dog tried several times to start down the incline and got scared. Finally, Tiller pulled a crinkly bag of dried cod skins from his backpack and started offering big crunchy pieces to Leo and Roxy. That pushed Hank over the edge—liter
ally. He slid down the dry, crumbling soil as Marti buried her face in Remi’s shoulder.

  At the bottom, instead of running to Marti, Hank planted his butt in front of Tiller, who calmly offered him a cod skin. Marti jumped up and hugged Remi. Then she ran over and hugged Tiller, with more tears, this time of joy.

  “He’s a good dog,” Tiller said, continuing to pop treats into Hank’s mouth like coins into a slot machine. “It’s a hard age. Just have patience.”

  When the bag was empty, Hank joined the other dogs in frolicking far ahead of the humans as they descended.

  “The poop,” Remi said. “We need that poop.”

  Her pink baseball cap was on the ground now, and the poop… had vanished.

  “It was right here,” Tiller said. “I’m sure of it.”

  A funny looked crossed Marti’s face as she stared at a dirty pawprint on the pink hat. “Hank,” she said. “He’ll eat anything. I’m surprised he left the hat.”

  “Oh no,” Remi said, rubbing her forehead.

  “It’s okay,” Tiller said. “Don’t worry.”

  Marti looked perplexed. “Is this poop special for some reason?”

  “It’s a long story,” Tiller said. “We’re just happy Hank is okay.”

  Remi fell behind on the trail so that Marti didn’t see her flagging spirits. The gala was just hours away. It would be crowded and the pressure high. There was no way she could get through it without Leo. And unless she could establish his innocence for Marcus quickly, the donation would go to the hero of the day, Tiller Iverson.

  “Leo, stop,” Remi hissed. They’d returned to the mansion with a goal of talking Marcus down from his ledge, too. But in the front hall, Leo inexplicably and for the first time ever, lifted his leg to sprinkle the reception desk in the front hall.

  Roxy promptly squatted and added a puddle to the mix.

  “Roxy, no!” Tiller sounded horrified.

  “Quiet. I’ll get the detergent,” Remi whispered. “Just stay.”

  “Staying.” Then he pressed his lips together and his shoulders began to shake silently.

  Remi felt laughter convulse in her stomach and pressed her hand to her mouth. “No. We can’t.”

  He leaned against the reception desk, his face reddening with the effort of holding it back. “This is all crazy,” he choked out.

  Remi’s grin flashed off and on like a neon sign. “Don’t, Tiller. We’ve got to—”

  There was a sound behind them. Marcus stood in the doorway to the office, his beard bristling with indignation. “Get out. No dogs allowed.”

  “At least let me clean up first,” Remi began.

  “Just go.” Marcus’ voice was shaking. “Don’t come back till one of you has landed a donation. The other one’s fired, and I’m using the salary dollars to replace my Gianneschi.”

  Chapter 11

  Rosetta Garret Gardens was just a short walk north from Bellington Square but it was nearly empty late Sunday morning, as it was every day no matter the season or weather. Though spacious and meticulously maintained, it had a fatal strike against it: no dogs allowed. A security guard was always on duty to enforce the rule and a few persistent dog owners had been issued fines. As a result, the garden was far less popular than it deserved to be. Even wedding parties spurned the glorious backdrop out of respect to canine bridesmaids, ring bearers and the like. All wedding gown shops in the city offered a selection of canine frocks, tuxedos and accoutrements. It was unthinkable that official portraits would exclude four-legged family members. Yet Rosetta Garret’s descendants simply wouldn’t hear of changing the rule. Rosetta had been a cat lover, they said, and she’d turn in her grave to know what Dorset Hills had become.

  “This is the last place I’d expect you to want to meet,” said Julia Berens, joining Remi on a bench under towering hibiscus bushes. Normally Julia was impeccably dressed, but today she was wearing denim shorts and flipflops, with her long blond hair in a messy bun. She looked more like a carefree teen than the intimidating accounts guru Remi feared and Marcus revered. “Where’s Leo?”

  “In detention at home,” Remi said. “And unhappy about it, judging by the howling.”

  “Marcus was outraged over the couch, I presume. Did he throw things?”

  “Just a fit.” She sighed. “He loves that couch.”

  “Well, it’s a Gianneschi. That means something to some people. No one who has a dog, obviously. But it certainly was a mess.”

  Julia owned a coton de Tulear, a powder puff on paws. Dottie was a senior now, and preferred quiet days at home to the hubbub of the foundation office.

  “You saw the couch after the massacre?” Remi asked.

  Julia shook her head. “Just photos from Marcus. He called this morning.”

  “So everything was fine when you left the office?” Julia worked nearly as much overtime as Remi. In fact, all staff routinely worked weekends, without being asked. It was the foundation’s culture.

  “I set my purse on the couch on my way out at seven and it was fine then.”

  “Then it happened even later than that. I left him too long.”

  “You’re sure it was Leo? Roxy’s new and probably anxious.”

  “I don’t know who spearheaded the demolition, but Leo ate some of the evidence.” On their walk home earlier, he’d produced a small piece of red leather. There was no denying his involvement now. She just wanted to know how it all went down, in hopes of making a plea for leniency.

  Julia wisely didn’t press for details. “Leo will eat anything. I expected to hear you’d found the remains of my Louis Vuitton wallet last month. Not that I was eager to have it back after its journey.”

  “What? He ate your wallet?”

  “Just a small chunk. I figured he’d digest it okay. He processed the middle finger of my blue leather glove just fine.”

  “He ate your glove, too? Julia, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you. It was just a glove.”

  “But he could have had an impaction!”

  “That dog has a cast iron stomach. He ate part of my bra once without so much as a belch.” She shook her head at the memory. “Remember I offered to walk him a few times? I didn’t want you to see my La Perla coming through.”

  Remi closed her eyes for a moment. “How did he get your bra? I haven’t trained him to work clasps.”

  Julia laughed. “I keep a few things in my drawer in case of a hot date. At least, I used to, until I realized Leo could open drawers. Now I put my ‘get lucky’ gear in the filing cabinet. Gave Simon quite a thrill when he found it.”

  So Julia kept lingerie in her drawer and Simon kept gin in his. She’d been missing a lot down in the basement.

  “I’m so sorry he’s been wrecking your stuff, Julia. I’ll replace it, I promise. But it will likely take me a while to save up, after repairing the couch.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It could as easily have gone the other way: I’d be paying your vet bills if the bra had stuck on a sharp turn.” Standing, Julia beckoned. “Let me show you around. This is my favorite spot in the whole city.”

  Remi trailed after her around broad, bright beds of flowers in non-regulation colors. It looked flamboyant in comparison to the city gardens. Few families had the clout to flout the city’s rules about flora and canine fauna. The Garrets must have given very generously to all the right causes.

  “You really should have said something about Leo.”

  “Dottie’s no angel, Remi. And I should know better than to leave my stuff where dogs can get it. There was no reason to worry you.”

  Her blue eyes shone with compassion, and suddenly Remi understood. Julia thought Remi couldn’t handle the truth—that she’d break down if she knew what Leo was capable of doing. Now she saw herself through her colleagues’ eyes: what had felt like a mostly private anxiety problem was obviously very much public.

  “I… I didn’t realize.” Remi’s voice faltered, and that bothered he
r, too. The last thing she needed was for Julia, the senior accounts lead, to think she was crumbling over her dog’s proclivities. “But I assure you I can deal with this problem.”

  “Remi, it isn’t a problem. Everyone knows about Leo.”

  “Knows what about Leo?”

  “That he’ll eat anything that isn’t nailed down. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gone after the couch before. He loves fine leather for lunch. Or anytime, really.”

  Remi pushed her hair back with both hands, wondering if it was possible for a person’s head to actually explode. “Does Marcus know?”

  “Not from me,” Julia said quickly. “I could see how important it was for you to have Leo around. You’ve been doing great with clients, by the way. I only pretended to be sick so Marcus would let you take the lead with the Pembertons.”

  “You did? Really?”

  Julia’s smile was as warm as the midafternoon sun filtering through the tall trees. “Sure. We’ve been short-staffed too long. I’m happy to share the load with you.”

  “Marcus doesn’t think I’m ready. He’s brought in Tiller to help you.”

  “It’s not like that. The mayor didn’t ask Marcus, he told him to hire Tiller. You don’t say no to Mayor Bradford.”

  “I guess not. But now Tiller’s taking over. He’s working his wiles on Hannah Pemberton.”

  Julia laughed. “I doubt he has to work very hard. Tiller Iverson is the best thing to happen to Dog Town in quite some time. If Hannah doesn’t snap him up, I might leave my new La Perla where he can find it.”

  “You could do better.” Something prickled in Remi’s stomach. Surely it wasn’t jealousy?

  Julia stooped and plucked a crimson flower from the garden. “Dianthus. Smell it.”

  “You can’t pick anything here. The security guard is always on duty.”

  “He can kiss my sweet alyssum,” Julia said, pointing to masses of creeping purple groundcover. “And don’t worry too much about the Pembertons. If Tiller scores with Hannah, you can work your wiles on the next potential donor.”

  “Is that how this business functions?” Remi asked. Julia had brought in nearly two million during her time at the foundation. She was doing something right. “Is it really about wiles?”