The Guest List (13 page)

In a fit of something she couldn’t describe, she swept her arm across the right-hand side of the desk, sending a China Doll houseplant, pencil holder, and a paper-clip box crashing to the floor.

Maybe she needed to go outside and sit in the sun for a little while even though sun was her face’s enemy. Like she really cared anymore. If she did that, though, would she hear the deliveryman when he brought Bunny’s housewarming gift? It seemed like a lot of trouble, but she wrote out a note and taped it to the front door.

Before she popped a Coca-Cola, Abby looked down the hallway that led to the atrium and the four bedrooms and baths that completed the house. She could always look at them some other day. Maybe she’d never look at them.

The pool was beautiful, the arranged patio furniture with the striped umbrellas looked just right for a party. Too bad she didn’t know anyone to invite.

She burst into tears. Her feet picked up wings as she raced into the house, through the rooms, and down the hall that led to her room and the one thing that had given her comfort over the years, Bailey, her old stuffed dog. She crushed it to her breast, her fingers working at the frayed, worn, nubby ears, and cried as she’d never cried before.

It was a long time later, her eyes red and puffy, before she stirred and made her way back outside. She was blowing her nose when a man suddenly appeared from the side of the house.

“Yo!” he said by way of a greeting. “I’m looking for Abby Mitchell.”

Abby sniffed. “I’m Abby Mitchell. And you are?”

“Steve Carpenter. I have a delivery for you from a Miss
Bunny? The note on the door said you would be in the backyard. Nice place you got here,” he said, looking around.

Abby stood in the shade of one of the umbrellas, not wanting him to see her tears. “Just leave it over there. I’ll take it in later.”

The man glanced back toward his vehicle. “It’s not the kind of delivery you can just leave. It’s the kind you need to take possession of.”

Abby started toward him, her frustration mounting. “What does that mean? Oh!” she said with sudden dawning. “You want to hand it to me so I’ll give you a tip. Okay, wait here,” she told him, turning and starting back toward the house.

“Lady, I don’t want a tip,” he said, sounding insulted. “Stay put, and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Look, I’m not in a very good mood right now, so let’s not play games.”

“I’m not playing games. Just stay there, and I’ll be right back.”

Sometimes Bunny had a weird sense of humor, Abby thought. In spite of Mr. Carpenter’s command, she followed him to his car.

“Eager to see what I’ve got, huh?” he said, when he turned to see her standing behind him. He opened the car’s back door and reached inside. “Here you go,” he said, handing her a leash, then a clipboard. “Sign here. No returns. Just so you understand that.”

Abby blinked, then blinked again. At the end of the leash was a huge dog. “Is this—Is this my present? Oh, my God. It’s a dog!” Her face lit up with excitement. “Is it full-grown? Is it a boy or a girl? What’s its name?”

The man standing in front of her with his baseball cap on backwards grinned. “Yep, it’s a dog all right. I’d say he’s a mix of shepherd and a little Lab. He weighs ninety-three pounds. He’s full-grown and is three years old. He was a K-9 dog but got wounded in the line of duty so he can’t work anymore, On
rainy days he limps a bit, but otherwise he’s fit as a fiddle. Your friend seemed to think he’d make a perfect pet for you. He really is a great dog. His name is Beemer.”

“Beemer,” Abby repeated with a laugh. “He’s wonderful. Where do I sign?”

“On the only line on the paper, lady.”

“I have a name. Why don’t you call me by name? I hate the term
lady,”
Abby muttered as she scrawled her name, one eye on the dog and the other on Steve Carpenter.

“Okay, lady, I mean, Miss Mitchell. He’s all yours. Remember what I said, no returns. This is a live dog, not like that stuffed dog on your chair over there. You are going to take care of him, aren’t you?” He gave her a critical look.

Abby narrowed her eyes. “Of course I’m going to take care of him,” she flashed back. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because I’m a vet, and that makes me suspicious by nature. People are always dumping dogs and cats off on my doorstep, thinking because I’m a vet, I have unlimited resources for feeding them, taking care of them, and finding homes for them. Do you have any idea how many abandoned and unwanted dogs I have at the clinic as we speak?”

“I have no idea,” Abby said, scratching Beemer behind the ears.

“Nineteen.”

“Do you want me to take some of them for you?” She waved her hand to encompass the fenced-in yard. “This is a big place as you can see, and I don’t have any neighbors. If you’ll take care of them—feed them and see to their health needs, they can have the run of the place. I’d hate to see you put any of them to sleep. You won’t, will you?”

“Never in a million years. That’s not why I went into veterinary medicine. Do you mean what you just said?”

“Of course I mean it. Do you have doghouses? I suppose they can sleep in the garage at night. It’s air-conditioned.”

“Air-conditioned. Wonderful. You’re sure now? You know,
they’ll ruin your bushes and grass. You don’t look the type to do pooper-scoop duty.”

Abby didn’t like what he was implying. “Exactly what type do I look like?”

Steve shrugged. “Rich. A little spoiled. This house looks like it costs more than I’ll earn in a lifetime.”

“For the record, Mr. Carpenter, you’re wrong. I’m not rich. The house was a gift from my adoptive parents. All I wanted was a small house, you know, a cottage with some flower boxes. This,” she said, waving her arms, “is what I got instead, and, like it or not, I’m stuck with it.”

Steve looked anything but sympathetic to her problem. “Do you know anything about dogs? Feeding them? Caring for them? Training them?”

Abby shook her head. “No, but I can learn.”

“Well, there’s nothing like a ninety-three-pound ex-K-9 to teach you I guess.” He handed her a piece of paper. “I’ve written up a few instructions, information about old Beemer here.” He closed the car door and opened his trunk. “I brought you a bag of dry dog food and some pig ears. Beemer is a highly trained police dog, Miss Mitchell. He’ll protect you and love you. I hope you’ll do the same for him.”

“I love him already,” she said, bending to the dog’s level and allowing him to bathe her face with dog kisses.

“Are you sure about this? Me bringing you all those dogs? The reason most people abandon a dog is because it digs or chews or barks or all of the above. If they’d just take the time to train their pets …” He broke off with a sigh. “It’s sort of a vicious cycle, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. It’ll be good for me, give me something to occupy my mind, and right now I really need to do that.”

“Why?” he asked, scrutinizing her as if she had a screw loose.

Unable to help herself, Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I guess I want to do something good for someone. You look sort
of frazzled, kind of the way I feel right now. Is that a good enough answer?” She hoped it was because she sure as hell couldn’t tell him the whole truth.

“It’ll do. Are you going to be home tomorrow?”

Was she? She was supposed to report to the library at nine o’clock. But she had pretty much decided to call them and tell them she wasn’t ready to work yet. “Actually, I will be here. All day. I’m a writer. I work at home,” she blurted.

The die was cast.

“A writer! That’s pretty neat. I can’t hang two words together. What do you write?”

Abby stared at the man across from her. Thirty at least. Wonderful dark, caring eyes, sandy hair, winsome smile. Rugged. Works out. “Mysteries. Well, actually one so far. I just sold my first book. I based it on a case that has never been solved, put my spin on it, and, well, you know.” Uncomfortable with talking about herself, she asked, “How old did you say Beemer is?”

“A little over three years. Smart as a whip.” He consulted his watch. “Listen, I gotta get going. I’ll be by tomorrow with the crew. You’re sure now that you want to do this? They aren’t going to be easy to take care of, and they’re going to make one hell of a mess out of that beautiful yard of yours.”

“I’m sure. I could use the company. I don’t want to be alone, especially now. The house is so big and …”

“Are you all right? You look … Well, you look like you’ve been doing a lot of crying,” Steve said hesitantly.

“I have been crying,” she admitted. “My boyfriend … he died … unexpectedly … last week. I just got back from Oregon, from his funeral, a few hours ago.”

Steve flinched with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Listen, if there’s anything I can do—” She shook her head. “How many dogs should I bring, do you think?”

“All of them. Some of them. Whatever you think we can handle.”

“We?” He looked perplexed.

Abby swiped the wetness of her cheeks. “Yeah,
we,”
she said firmly. “That was the agreement. I said I would provide the place if you would feed them and take care of their health needs, remember?”

Steve removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Yeah, right,” he said.

“So what time is feeding time?”

“Seven o’clock in the morning.”

Abby gasped. “That early?”

Steve smiled smugly. “I’m afraid so. I have to feed them early so I can do my rounds and open my clinic by nine.”

“Oh, sure,” Abby nodded. “That makes perfect sense. Who’s going to pay for all the dog food?”

“I will, unless you’d care to split it,” he said hopefully.

Abby thought about the check Mallory had given her that she had yet to deposit. “Okay,” she said, knowing in her heart that Connor would approve. He’d loved animals. Carol and Donovan, on the other hand, would go ballistic. She felt lightheaded at the thought.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve said, heading toward his car.

Abby nodded. “What do I do if Beemer doesn’t like me?”

“It won’t happen. An animal loves the person who feeds him and is kind to him. The only thing a dog knows is loyalty. Beemer might take a few days to really warm up to you, but once he does he will never leave your side. Trust me on that.”

Abby smiled a real smile. “Okay, see you tomorrow, Steve.” She started back toward the house when she had a thought. “Hey, you want to come for supper?” she blurted. Bunny would view the invitation as getting on with her life.

Sam stopped in his tracks. “What are you having?”

“Well … ah …”

“You don’t try out weird recipes on unsuspecting guests, do you? I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. I don’t like anything with strings or that looks like a weed. I love sweets. I would kill for sweets. I’m also partial to caramel-coated popcorn. I’ve also been known to nibble on dog biscuits when money is tight, which is most of the time.”

Abby laughed out loud. Steve Carpenter had a wonderful sense of humor. “It will probably be something frozen or something out of a can. I can’t cook,” she admitted, grimacing. “Except eggs,” she qualified. “I can cook eggs, fried, scrambled, or hard boiled.”

Steve grimaced back. “I like eggs. Sure. What time?”

“Seven,” she said as she calculated how long it would take her to shower and set a table. “The dog won’t fall in the pool, will he? Do I need to walk him on a leash or what?”

“A leash will be good for a while. Take him to the edge and see what he does. If he looks like he’ll go in, swat his back end with a rolled-up newspaper. Do that a few times, and he’ll get the idea. Dogs
can
swim. It’s instinctive.” He pulled his cap down low over his face. “You know, this is a really good thing you’re doing.”

“My friend Bunny, the one who had you deliver Beemer to me, said her grandmother always said when God is good to you, you have to give back.”

Sam looked perplexed. “But you said …”

“That my boyfriend died,” she finished for him. “Yes, and God gave him to me for four wonderful years. And now that I have all this,” Abby said, waving her hand about, “I can give back.” To hide her tears, she turned her head and looked over the expanse of green lawn. “Do you think I’m going to need a gardener?”

Steve laughed. “Hell, no! After the crew is here a few days, there won’t be anything left to take care of. See ya.”

Abby started back toward the house, Beemer at her side. Out
of the corner of her eye she noticed a silver streak heading down the road. Was it Mallory driving the car? What would Mallory be doing all the way out here? It was probably a trick of the sunlight. She walked into the house and locked the door, her insides shaking.

Was it Mallory?

Abby woke slowly and snuggled against the comforting warmth of Connor’s back. She smiled, rolled over and threw her arm across … a furry body? She opened her eyes and shrieked.

“Beemer!” The big dog was lying next to her, his head on the pillow beside hers.

She burst into tears as reality hit her: Connor would never sleep with her again. Then, moments later, Beemer’s confused expression penetrated her tears, and she started to laugh.

“I bet your handler, whoever he was, didn’t let you sleep in
his
bed,” she said, wiping her tears away. “You took advantage of me, Beemer.” The dog stretched and yawned, then rolled to his feet and jumped down off the high-rise bed. When Abby made no move to get up, he barked at her. She looked over the edge of the bed and saw him staring at her. “What? What do you want?”

He barked again.

“You want to go out, is that it?” He turned toward the door.
“Okay, okay. I get the message.” She climbed down out of the big bed and headed for the French doors that led to the patio. “Okay, you go do your thing, and we’ll meet up in the kitchen for breakfast.”

Ten minutes later Beemer found Abby in the kitchen grinding coffee beans. He sat down across from her and gazed up at her expectantly. “You want some breakfast?” she asked as if he might actually answer. She finished making her coffee, searched for and found the bag of dog food Steve had brought, and scooped some into a bowl. When she set it down in front of Beemer, he looked at it with disdain. “What? Didn’t I fix it right?” She reread the list of instructions and realized she’d forgotten to add warm water. “Sorry, boy, I missed that part. You must think I’m a real jerk.” She picked up the bowl, held it under the filtered hot-water dispenser, then stirred the kibble until it was swimming in a tasty-looking gravy. As soon as she set it down, Beemer started eating. Abby watched in delight as the big dog ate every last morsel.

She was about to sit down with a cup of coffee to ponder the day ahead of her when the kitchen door opened and chaos erupted. “What? Hey!” she sputtered as dogs of every size and color invaded her house. She watched in horror as a fat basset hound waddled over to the center of the floor and squatted. “Oh, my God. Stop! Not in the kitchen!”

“Olivia! Bad dog,” Steve Carpenter yelled as he charged into the kitchen behind the dogs. “Why the hell did you let them in?” he shouted as he ran past her.

“I didn’t,” Abby shouted to be heard above the barking dogs. “The door must have been ajar.”

“Woody! Gus! Mickey! Come here, you guys,” Steve called, heading for the dining room. “Harry, no! That’s not a tree!” And then a moment later, “Jesus Christ! White carpeting.”

Abby followed Steve and the dogs. She stopped at the door and her whole body started to quake with laughter. Never in her life had she witnessed such a hilarious scene. Dogs were
running every which way, panting, barking, and yipping. One of them jumped on the couch, then hopped over the back and ran down the hall, another one was digging into the chair cushion while a third was making its bed in one of the antique satin draperies pooled on the floor.

Steve was in the middle of it all, a dog under each arm, his expression horrified. “Call them toward you and maybe we can route them back outside.”

“Come on, guys,” Abby said, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Let’s go outside.” None of them moved or even looked her way. “They’re not listening,” she said. “What now?”

“See if you can catch a couple of them—that one—Harry. I’ll take these two outside, then come back to get a couple more.”

Abby ran after the one Steve had called Harry and scooped him up in her arms. She was about to go after a pug when Harry licked her chin. She looked down at him and he licked her again. “Ah, you’re a cutie,” she said, hugging the furry canine.

“Big help you are,” Steve said, coming back through the dining room.

“Can I help it if I’m a sucker for animals?” she asked as she headed for the kitchen to put Harry outside. She hurried back in time to see Steve chasing a Lab around the table in the foyer, threatening to take the dog’s toys away and to introduce him to the dogcatcher if he didn’t obey. Steve was so entertaining Abby forgot what she was supposed to do, and by the time she remembered and went after the pug, it was too late. “Oh, no,” she said, seeing the homely little dog kicking out his back legs in a useless attempt to cover up his mess. “There goes Carol’s white carpet.” Grimacing, she looked up to see Steve pulling the Lab by the collar toward the kitchen.

When it was all over and the dogs were outside, Abby and Steve sat down across from each other at the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “As soon as I get a second wind, I’ll clean up the mess in the living room.”

“I’ll do it a little later,” she said. “I’m not mad if that’s what you think. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time, and to tell you the truth it felt good,” she grinned at him.

“Who in the hell would put down white carpeting anyway?”

“Don’t look at me,” Abby said, getting up. “It was like that when I moved in.” Slippers flapping, she made her way across the kitchen. “Uh-oh. We forgot one.”

Steve turned around and saw Olivia sitting behind him. He got up and went over to her. “Bad dog,” he said again, waving his finger under her nose. “Bad dog, Olivia.” He pointed toward the puddle she’d made. “Where are your manners?” he asked the sad-eyed basset. “Come on, you’re outta here.”

As soon as he came back inside he found the paper towels, peeled off a few sheets, sopped up the mess, and disposed of it in a trash can outside the kitchen door.

“Want some coffee, breakfast?” Abby asked.

“Sure. Nothing heavy, okay?” He went over to the sink and thoroughly washed his hands. “Listen, I’m really sorry about canceling out on you last night. There was an emergency at closing time.”

“Your assistant explained everything,” Abby said. “Besides, I really wasn’t up to it anyway. How do eggs and Pop-Tarts sound?”

“Pop-Tarts! You might as well have said dog poop on a cracker.”

“Like them that much, do you? I’ll have to remember that.”

“Where’s the bag of dog stuff I delivered to you yesterday along with Beemer?”

Abby turned and pointed to the counter next to the stove.

Steve retrieved the bag and found the box of Snausages. “Pay attention now. This is one way to get the dogs to come to you.” He grabbed a handful, stepped outside, then whistled
between his teeth. The dogs came running from every direction to get their treats.

“Wow! I’m impressed,” she teased, when he came back inside. “Do you think I can learn that?”

“Possibly, with a few lessons,” he kidded. “By the way, how did Beemer do last night? Any problems?”

“He did just fine but … I’m embarrassed to say he took advantage of me.”

Steve sat down again. “Took advantage of you? How?”

“When I woke up this-morning, I found him in my bed!”

Steve’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, then smoothed out when he caught the drift of her joke. “Lucky dog,” he said, watching her expectantly as if he was afraid she might not take his joke in the same vein.

Abby broke four eggs into the frying pan. “So what is it with all these dogs? What’s wrong with them that nobody wanted them? I’m having trouble comprehending all this.”

“Nothing’s wrong with them. Olivia was given up because her family was moving out of state. It’s beyond me why they couldn’t take her with them. They didn’t leave their children behind. Old Woody—Woodrow Wilson, I call him, the pug—his owner thought he was sick and didn’t want to spring for the vet bill. All that was wrong was that he had an enlarged prostate and needed to be neutered. Of course, he never would have gotten an enlarged prostate if he’d been neutered when he was young. Gus and Harry were found by one of my clients wandering the streets, half-starved. The problem is that people treat dogs and cats like throwaways. They don’t realize or care that animals have feelings—that they worry, get scared, and even go into depression. Believe me, I’ve seen and heard it all.”

Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I know what it’s like not to be wanted. My mother didn’t want me, and the people who adopted my sister and me—they didn’t want her.” She shook her head.

Steve gave her a thoughtful look. She sensed he wanted to say something comforting but he didn’t. “There’s a book in this somewhere. I know it.”

“You know what, you are absolutely right. A book about the dogs, not me or my sister. I could call it
Canine Capers
or something like that. I’ll dedicate it to you … and the crew. What’s that one’s name?” she asked, pointing toward a terrier she hadn’t seen before.

“Solomon. Their names are on their tags. They’ve had all their shots, by the way, and they’ve all been neutered or spayed. Be sure to put down plenty of water.”

“Speaking of water, I think I’d better have a fence put up around the pool so I don’t have to worry about them falling in.”

“That would be nice, but I don’t know if it’s entirely necessary. You can probably teach them to stay away from it, except for the Lab. Labs love water. He could probably give you a few swimming lessons.”

“I still think I’ll fence in the pool. Meantime, I’ll keep the dogs in the house with me and take them outside every couple of hours.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, what with that white carpet. Every accident is going to show. And considering how many of them there are …”

“I have an idea. How about if I close off all the rooms except the path from the kitchen to my office? That way if there’s an accident, I’ll see it right away. I know this will make me sound really ungrateful, but my adoptive parents gave me the house as a graduation gift. Carol, my adoptive mother, decorated it and—well—it’s way too formal for me. The minute I saw those pooling draperies and all that white carpeting I knew they would have to go. And most of the furniture and accessories, too. So, you see, if the dogs have an occasional accident, it’s no big deal.”

“What you’re saying, if I’m hearing you right, is that your
adoptive mother is a little on the controlling side. My mother was like that, always thinking she knew what was best for me. You wouldn’t believe some of the outrageous schemes she pulled to get me to do what she wanted.” He took the mug of coffee she handed him.

Abby eyed him narrowly, his comments ringing in her ears. Controlling, yes. Carol was that, among other things. The last three years she’d been more controlling than ever, and Abby had found herself wanting to distance herself from Carol, which meant she had to distance herself from Donovan, too. As for schemes …

“What you said—it makes me wonder,” she said as she put the Pop-Tarts into the toaster oven, “if this house wasn’t sort of like bait.”

“Bait?”

Abby turned around and looked at him. “Yeah. A year or so ago, I mentioned the possibility of moving to New York after graduation, and then what do I get for a graduation present?” She turned her hands, palms up. “This house.”

“Well, I for one am glad you didn’t move to New York. All these dogs were starting to take a toll on my practice. Taking care of them properly requires a lot of time—time I need for my patients.” He stared at her intently until Abby looked away.

“So, when are you going to ask me about this?” she said, smoothing her hand over the port-wine stain.

“I wasn’t planning to ask. I know what it is. I’m glad you aren’t one of those people who constantly keeps putting her hand to her face or wears one of those cockamamie hairdos to try to hide it. Obviously you’re comfortable with it.”

“You’re never comfortable with something like this,” Abby said coolly.

“You know what I mean. We all live with one cross or another. I suppose you’ve looked into laser surgery?”

“I
had
laser surgery a few years ago, and it actually made it slightly worse.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been disappointing.”

Abby divvied up the eggs from the frying pan onto plates, added the Pop-Tarts, then took the plates to the table and set them down. “Since you missed out last night, you want to come for supper tonight?”

“Sure, but since we’re having eggs now, could we have something else for supper? I like eggs, but not for every meal. Can’t you cook even a little bit?”

Abby bubbled with laughter. When she could talk again, she said, “To tell you the truth I’ve never really tried, but I noticed there were some cookbooks on the shelf, and I
can
read. Yesterday you said you were a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so how about I cook meat and potatoes?”

Steve’s face turned dubious. “Okay.”

They turned their attention to their food, finishing a few minutes later. Abby sat back and sipped her coffee, savoring the flavor and the aroma.

Steve looked up at the clock. “I’d better get going,” he said, putting his silverware on his plate. “Thanks for breakfast. You cook some mean scrambled eggs.”

Abby balled her napkin and threw it at him. “They weren’t scrambled. They were fried!”

“Oops!” he said, looking suitably embarrassed. “I think it’s time for me to go.” He opened the door and was immediately surrounded by the dogs.

They love him,
Abby thought, following him out.
No,
she amended,
they
adore
him.
“Be sure to latch the gate on your way out. And if you have a padlock lying around, bring it with you tonight. I don’t want my dogs getting out.”

“Your dogs?” he yelled back over his shoulder.

“Yes. I’m going to adopt each and every one of them, unless you can find them other homes.” As if in agreement with her plan, Olivia threw her head back and howled. “Oh, my God!”
Abby said, laughing. “She’s wonderful. She’s got such character.”

Steve laughed, too. “With this many dogs you might need a kennel license. I’ll look into it for you.”

“Okay,” Abby said agreeably.

“You’re pretty unflappable, you know?”

Abby nodded. “I guess I’ll see you this evening. Seven o’clock.”

“Are you sure you can handle all this?” he asked, looking from dog to dog to dog.

“I’m sure. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Never mind. Dumb question.”